


Together, We Walked that Darkened Path Alone.

by pamdizzle



Series: Dreams of Lace and Satin [14]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Abrasive Language, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Memories, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Harvey is Jim's Best Friend, Homophobic Language, M/M, Oswald is a good fiance, Past, Reconciliation, Supportive Partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 14:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15317667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamdizzle/pseuds/pamdizzle
Summary: Jim's brother pays an unexpected visit amid preparations for he and Oswald's upcoming wedding, bringing old pain to the forefront.Or, the one where Jim's baggage is unpacked, Edward uses riddles to torture strangers and Oswald is a loving, supportive fiance above all else.





	Together, We Walked that Darkened Path Alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note on the tags up here--the homophobic language is used by minors who may or may not fully understand its implication. Unfortunately, this type of heckling was quite popular when I was a kid, and I don't gloss over it here. It is intrinsic to my characterization of Jim to include it in the story, and so I want to forewarn anyone who might be particularly sensitive about it that I wouldn't include it if it weren't. 
> 
> Rated M for language and adult themes rather than smut for a change.
> 
> Italics are used to denote flashbacks. Thanks!

_Because brothers don’t let each other wander in the dark alone._

***

“So, let me get this straight,” Harvey says, grimacing when Jim holds up a burgundy tie for his inspection. “No.” Harvey tosses a different one over, deep blue silk, before he continues, “You’ve got Riddler living in your carriage house?”

“Oz’s father had it converted into a guest house.” He corrects, shrugging on the jacket that’s been hanging on the door while he perused the ties and works on fastening the buttons. The whole getup is a little too large, but that’s the purpose of a fitting he supposes.

Harvey regards him with a flat look. “We both know I don’t give a damn about the late Van Dahl’s renovation projects.”

Jim sighs. “Oz wants to help him.”

“Penguin wants to use him, you mean.”

“If it keeps him from raising hell on the streets, I could care less,” Jim admits. He doesn’t like Ed, but he appears sincere. And he’s no psychologist, but one side of Ed genuinely seems to want to save Lee from himself. Truthfully, it’s uncomfortable confronting the reasons for Ed’s departure from the Narrows, but Lee knew the risks when she aligned herself with Nygma. It isn’t Jim’s place to watch her back anymore, and she wouldn’t thank him for it anyway.

Besides, Jim has enough to contend with between keeping an eye on her wayward ex and preparing for he and Oz’s wedding. He turns to face Harvey, tuxedo fully donned, opening his arms as he says, “What do you think?”

Harvey hums. “I think you’re borrowing trouble, but I’m sure you already know it.” He then looks Jim up and down, nods. “It’ll do.”

Jim frowns. Will it? Jim is the Police Captain to a city full of his fiancé’s criminal machinations. He is literally about to marry the mob.  “What am I doing, Harvey?”

Harvey sighs, reaching out to straighten Jim’s tie. “You’re being selfish,” he says, “and that’s no bad thing. You love him—he definitely loves you—and frankly…he’s helping the balance more than he’s hurting it. Neither of us have a clue what that entails, and I think it’s probably best we keep it that way.”

Jim furrows his brow. “You’re not going to try and talk me out of it?”

“He’d know it was me,” he reasons, eyes dancing with mirth. “He’s—” Harvey frowns like he’s just swallowed something sour. “Not…completely…horrible.” He quickly amends, “When he doesn’t want to be. Which is fairly often these days, credit where due. Whether I like him or not though, Jim, he’s good for you.”

Jim’s eyebrows shoot toward the ceiling at that. “You feelin’ alright, Harv?”

“Shuddup,” Harvey scoffs, slapping Jim’s hand away when he tries to playfully check for a fever. “I’m trying to be supportive here, you ungrateful dick.”

Jim huffs a laugh, then sobers as he says earnestly, “Thank you.”

“Yeah well,” Harvey replies, shrugging, “s’open bar. Be a shame if it got cancelled over a bout of cold feet.”

He has the nerve to be offended when Jim subsequently pokes him in the arm with one of the pins the tailor set aside for marking his alterations.

“Ouch! You son of a b—”

“All set then?”

“Yessir.” It’s with a huge shit-eating grin that Jim greets the tailor as he enters the room, forestalling Harvey from exacting revenge (and likely getting themselves tossed out of the shop).

There’s no obstructing Harvey’s mouth, however.

Unfortunately.

“He’s a little loose in the backside.”

Jim closes his eyes in exasperation, face growing hot. God save Oswald’s poor, scandalized tailor.

***

 There’s an unfamiliar car in the drive when Harvey drops him off later, an out-of-state plate denoting its origin as California. Intrigued, Jim conspicuously glances into the passenger side window as he walks past it on his way in, looking for any obvious clues regarding its driver. It’s disappointingly clean.

Cautiously, he keeps his hand near his waist as he approaches the front landing. There’s no such thing as paranoia when you’re engaged to a notorious crime lord— _alleged_ , Jim can hear Oswald’s voice correct him in his head. Jim rolls his eyes heavenward before quietly pushing open the front door and stepping inside. He hears Oswald’s genuine laughter from the direction of the dining room, and Jim immediately relaxes.

His shoulders slump before he catches sight of Edward, eyeing him with a knowing grin as he steps into the foyer. Jim is about to ask who’s visiting from California when he hears a voice that is altogether familiar and not.

“So, you’re Jim’s fiancé, huh?”

Jim forgets all about Ed, a danger he can chastise himself over later, as his feet carry him out of the foyer and into the dining room. He comes up behind Oswald, not meaning to creep up on him but startling Oz all the same when Roger catches sight of him.

He looks genuinely happy, as he says, “Speak of the devil.”

Oswald bodily flinches, swinging around in surprise to find Jim hovering there. Jim reaches out to steady him, one hand on his shoulder, the other at his waist, as shock-blue eyes find his own. Jim forces a smile, the curve of it awkwardly tight against the numb skin of his face. He means to apologize. He can’t unglue his tongue to do so.

“Jim?” Oswald asks, voice quietly concerned as he raises a gentling hand to his cheek. The contact is enough to shock him from his stupor, leaning down to kiss Oswald in greeting. It only strikes him as they part that he’s just kissed a man in front of his brother for the first time.

Jim’s face feels like fire as Oz pulls him from the room. “Excuse us for a moment, Roger. I need to ask Jim a few questions about his errands this afternoon.” Oswald affects that same gentrified air he wielded so well as mayor as he adds, “Wedding stuff.”

Ed is watching from the entryway, and Oswald pushes him into the dining room as they make their exit. “Ed, be a dear and show Jim’s brother to one of the first-floor guest rooms, would you?”

Ed, far too cheerful in Jim’s estimation, tilts his head in greeting to Roger. “My pleasure.” Jim hears him make introductions as Oswald ushers them down the hall toward the library. “My first, a condition for business affairs, my second you may choose to leave to your heirs, my whole may have strangers going up your stairs—what am I1?”

Roger’s answering voice is just discernible. “Is that a riddle?”

“Jesus Christ.” Jim sighs, fairly wilting into the chaise as Oswald closes the library door. Oz comes to him after, threads fingers through Jim’s hair as he moves to stand in the space between his knees. Jim rests his forehead against his abdomen and winds his arms around Oswald’s hips.  

“Shall I throw him out?” Oswald asks, dead serious. He would do it, too, and with a flourish. More even, threaten him to never return for good measure, if Jim asked it of him.

There’s a part of him that wants to; A deep-seated hurt that curls in his gut, urging him to put Roger in his place for once. Jim wrestles it back, shakes his head instead.

“No, it’s…” Jim sucks in a breath. He doesn’t know how to react to having Roger appear, can’t begin to explain the things between them. “It’s been a long time since the last time I saw him. We didn’t exactly part on good terms.”

“He seemed,” Oswald begins, then licks his lips, deciding finally on: “Nice.”

Jim snorts. “Sure.”

Oswald looks down to regard Jim with a raised brow.

“It’s complicated,” Jim explains. “I guess I don’t really know him anymore.”

Oswald hums. “Sometimes, family can surprise you.”

“Disappointment is just as common,” Jim argues, pessimistically.

His statement is met with a quiet, breathy snigger. Oz rubs Jim’s shoulders, his neck, the base of his head, until Jim is fairly melted against him. “I won’t try to tell you what you should do, Jim. I’ll simply help you do it, whatever it may be.”

Jim squeezes him a bit more firmly.

To think, earlier he was having doubts about the wisdom of getting married. Maybe it is selfish. Or, maybe it’s just kismet. From the moment he told a scrawny gangster in a back alley to drop the bat, maybe it was fate. Whatever else it is—this place he’s found with Oz—it isn’t conventional, maybe, but Jim knows it’s right.

There’s no other way to explain the exceptions they make for each other. They way they seem to naturally bend and twine together like vines up a tree. Jim closes his eyes, lets the tension bleed from his spine. Whatever Roger’s reasons for being here, it doesn’t matter.

“Just don’t want anything to interfere with our day, you know?” He finally says.

“Do you think he would do that?” Oswald asks, fingers pausing their ministration against Jim’s scalp.

Jim shakes his head. “Nah. He can be an ass, but it’s more passive aggressive than anything. I’ll deal with him. If he stays, he stays. If not, well…it isn’t like I planned on him being there anyway.”

Oz leans down to kiss Jim’s forehead. “If you need me—”

“I know,” Jim assures, just as a quiet knock sounds against the door. They gently disentangle before Oswald calls for them to enter.

Roger is stood there, smile forced as Ed follows him into the room. Jim thinks he sees a bit of shark lurking behind Nygma’s wide grin. He quirks a brow at Oswald who purses his lips.

“I never met someone who literally speaks in riddles,” Roger comments, clearly uncomfortable.

Oz shoots a baleful look in Ed’s direction before he turns a genial smile toward Jim’s estranged brother. “Well, I’m sure you two have plenty of catching up to do.”

He grabs Edward by the elbow, practically dragging him from the room. “Ed and I will see to dinner.”

With that, Jim is left in the library with Roger, who at least has the decency to look as wrong-footed and Jim feels.

“So…” Roger says, glancing around the library, “nice place.”

Jim shrugs. “It’s Oswald’s family home.”

Roger gives a nod, before sucking in a breath. “Heard you’re kind of a big-shot these days. I’m really—”

Whatever his brother is about to say—Jim is pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear it—is interrupted by Jim’s work cell. He gives Roger what he hopes is a sincerely apologetic frown. “Sorry, just let me…”

He flips it open. “Gordon.”

“Jim!” Harvey’s voice is tense as he says, “We got a lead on Crane. Couple’a tweakers got dropped off at Gotham General an hour ago. They’re fucked out their minds, but their hallucinations seem to be oddly similar. Either they’re dream walking together or—

“They both saw something.” Jim smirks, looks up to see Roger looking at him with wide eyes. “I’ll meet you there.”

“You got it.”

Jim snaps the phone shut and pushes past his brother into the hall. It’s supposed to be his day off—he’s got a few of them this week—set aside to handle a few wedding arrangements, but Jim couldn’t be happier for the excuse, any excuse really, to step away and let him process the sudden presence of a brother he hasn’t seen in over a decade.

“Sorry, Roger,” Jim says as they enter the dining room. “I gotta handle something downtown. We’ll catch up later.”

He finds Oswald in the kitchen, making gnocchi while Ed purées tomatoes in the food processor. His stomach growls, distracting him from the strangeness of seeing the Riddler doing mundane shit in his kitchen. Weird as it is, Jim regrets that he’ll probably be missing dinner.

“I’ll save you a plate,” Oswald says, reading Jim’s mind as he crosses the kitchen. Jim meets him halfway, concerned by how pronounced his limp is this evening.

Jim lets Oz wipe his hands off on the kitchen towel before he hauls him in for a hug. “I’ll try not to be too late.”

“Call Butch if you need an assist,” Oswald whispers under his breath, ever aware of his surroundings.

Jim nods, kisses him soundly on the forehead. “Don’t overdo it.”

Oswald huffs. “I’ll be fine. Go save the children, Captain Gordon.”

Jim snorts, swats him on the ass, present company be damned. “Be nice.”

“I resent that, James.” Oswald’s grin is as sweet as it is evil. “I am nothing if not an impeccable host.”

“It’s true,” Ed chimes in as he adds a splash of vodka to the processor.

“Is that supposed to go in there?”

Oswald shrugs. “It’s not my sauce, but vodka is in the name, so I would presume so.”

Jim starts to reply, but Oswald shoves a breadstick into his mouth and pushes him back out into the dining room where his brother regards him with curiosity and, if Jim isn’t mistaken, mild concern.

“Is it, uh,” Roger scratches the back of his neck. “Is it dangerous?”

Jim laughs sardonically as he dons his jacket. “Is it Gotham?”

***

_“I’m sorry, Mommy,” Jimmy says, rubbing his eyes. He doesn’t think the tears are ever gonna stop. Maybe it ‘cause he deserves to feel bad. “I couldn’ do nothin’,” he mumbles quietly. “I tried t’wake him up—”_

_Mommy squats down, her own tears visible in the harsh light of the hospital, wraps Jimmy up in her her arms and shushes him. She rocks him back and forth, kisses his temple and says, “No, Jimmy. You did your best, and that’s all any of us can do. It wasn’t your fault, sweetheart.”_

_Jimmy sniffs, wipes his face, but it doesn’t do any good. Maybe he did do his best…but his best wasn’t good enough. And now Daddy is gone, and he’s never coming back. And no matter what Mommy says, Jimmy knows that he has to do better._

_He’s never gonna let anything bad happen ever again._

***

“You two look like hell.” Roger says as he approaches their table at O’Malley’s the following afternoon. It’s only the second day of his visit, but his presence is already grating on Jim’s frayed nerves.

He didn’t get more than four hours of sleep after chasing Scarecrow’s trail. Crane had been snatching people off the streets, testing his new fear toxin. They managed to corner him in the basement of Gotham General pretty early on after Jim met up with Harvey, but it took another five hours to unravel his plan. Half the GCPD had been deployed in an effort to disarm the tanks he’d hooked into the air filtration system of Wayne Enterprises and handful of other buildings in the trade district.

Needless to say, being imposed upon by Roger during his one hour of downtime after an exhausting night before followed by too little sleep does nothing to ease his pounding temples. Harvey’s boisterous laughter in the face of his brother’s observation only further sets Jim’s teeth on edge.

“I’m Roger.” Jim’s brother holds out his hand to Harvey. “Jim’s older brother.”

“Harbey Buffock,” his partner replies through a mouthful of Italian meatball sub.

Jim pinches his nose, hands over a napkin. “Jeez, Harv.”

Roger grins, not put off by Harvey’s terrible manners in the slightest, as he takes a seat. Harvey side-eyes him as he swallows. “Brother, huh?” He jabs Jim in the arm, wiping his face with the proffered napkin. “He always been such a nag?”

Roger sniggers, seemingly fond. “Like you wouldn’t believe, ever since we were kids.”

Jim stiffens, jaw tight as he focuses his attention on his food, ignoring them both. Harvey clears his throat, arm landing across the booth behind Jim’s tense shoulders.

“I could probably use the help, to be honest. Raised by wolves and all that.” Harvey coughs and changes the subject, “You in town for the wedding?”

“Uh, well,” Roger stutters before he shrugs. He affects a teasing grin before he responds a little too flippantly. “Would have been if Jim had bothered to invite me.”

Jim grits his teeth, swallowing the angry retort that claws up his throat. “I wasn’t sure where to send it. Roger moves around a lot,” he explains to Harvey, then turns back to his brother. “I lost your number.”

Roger averts his eyes at that, but not quickly enough for Jim to miss the flash of hurt there. Good. Jim doesn’t know what Roger thinks he’s doing, showing up two weeks before his wedding, barging back into Jim’s life like he never left, and Jim knows he wants something. He just wishes he’d get around to asking for it already, so Jim can send him packing.

Maybe it’s petty, hanging on to grudges fostered as children, and maybe Jim should forgive him. Maybe that’s what their Mom would want, but Jim can’t forget. He’s tried to, tried to lock it all up in a box and shove it into the far recesses of his mind never to be heard from again. But seeing Roger here, now…it’s like standing in a field, heart racing and adrenaline firing as a thousand stampeding gazelles come hurdling at him from a dust-laden plain.

Jim thought he was past this. It’s disconcerting to suddenly see him again, haunting his present like a phantom. He should have let Oswald throw him out yesterday when he’d made the offer. Jim can’t say why he refused, why he didn’t at least insist Roger find a hotel to stay in rather than their home.

On the plus side, Ed seems to creep Roger out. Which is entertaining, even if Jim has to suffer the riddles alongside his brother. Watching Roger grin and bear it all for the sake of whatever ruse he’s trying to pull, presents a small measure of catharsis. Jim isn’t above enjoying it, just a little.

“Well,” Harvey says, breaking their momentary lapse into awkward silence, “at least you’ve got some time to catch up before the big day. But let me warn ya—I ain’t never been nobody’s best man so don’t expect me to step aside without a fight.”

Roger holds up his hands. “I wouldn’t dream of it!”

“Maybe you can be the flower girl,” Harvey jokes.

Roger laughs. “That was more Jimmy’s area than mine. Used to go picking wildflowers for our Mom in the park. We used to tease him all the time, but it was actually—”

“I gotta get back,” Jim says curtly, sliding out of the booth and tossing down a fifty. “Tell her to keep the change. I’ll see you back at the station, Harv. Roger.”

Jim doesn’t spare a backward glance as he makes a beeline for the door. He’s wound more tightly than usual, old emotions churning to the surface. None of them are nostalgic the way Roger had been harping on about over lunch. Anxious, he pulls out his phone.

 _Can you come home early tonight?_ Jim texts Oz, his thumbs a flurry as they quickly tap it out.

 _How early?_ Oz replies, almost immediately.

 _Six?_ Jim sends it, and then instantly regrets it. Oz has important meetings all day with his inspectors. Roger is his problem, and he needs to be the one to deal with it rather than hide behind his fiancé.

 _Never mind,_ Jim sends. _Sorry._

His phone rings, and Jim sighs as he steps off the street into an empty alleyway. “Hey.”

“Are you alright?” Oswald’s voice is quiet, like he’s trying not to be overheard and Jim feels even more ridiculous for worrying him enough that he’s obviously stepped out of a meeting to call.

“I’m fine,” Jim lies, throat tight.

“I’ll be home by five-thirty.”

“No,” Jim argues, plaintive. He feels about three feet tall, inexplicably tied up in knots for reasons he can’t even really discern. Roger was just so casual about it, like the things he’d waxed so fondly about were nothing but memories of kids being kids. Maybe that’s all it was to him. “It’s not—”

“I’ll see you at five-thirty,” Oswald insists, “I was thinking of taking an early night anyway. My knee’s been bothering me today.”

“Oh,” Jim says, feeling a little less worthless as recalls how pronounced Oz’s limp was the day before. If Oswald was already thinking about it, then… “Are you sure?”

“What’s there to be unsure about, silly?” Oswald teases. “You’re just the excuse I was looking for.”

“Okay.” Jim smiles, some unknown tension loosening in his chest. “I—I love you, Oz.”

Oz sighs audibly over the line. “I love you, too. Now get back to work or I won’t get to see you until seven.”

Jim says goodbye and flips his cell closed, marveling at it for a moment before shoving it back into his pocket. How is it possible to miss someone so much you just saw five hours ago?

***

_The house is quiet by the time Jimmy makes it home from school. They live just around the corner, but Rogey always beats him home. Jimmy tries to catch him sometimes, running around to the other side of the school where the sixth graders come out, but even when he makes it, Rogey is taller and he walks too fast and Jimmy can’t keep up._

_It isn’t that Jimmy needs Rogey to hold his hand on the way home, Jimmy just wants to make sure Rogey looks both ways before he crosses the street. He wants to make sure they both get home safely. Jimmy sees Rogey’s backpack on the floor and sighs._

_He shuts and bolts the door, takes his shoes off at the mat and hangs up his bag, bending down to put Rogey’s on its hook as well. He pads down the hall, picks up the faint hum of music as he passes Rogey’s door and tiptoes into Mommy’s room._

_She’s laying on the bed, but that doesn’t mean she’s asleep. Sometimes, Mommy just lays there and stares at the wall. Sometimes she cries and sometimes, on really good days he’ll find her reading in the living room with a tiny smile on her face._

_She has a magazine today, and Jimmy grins as he climbs up onto the bed by her feet. “Hi, Mommy.”_

_She smiles at him, hand beckoning him closer. Jimmy goes along, crawling on his hands and knees until he’s near enough that she can grab him and squeeze him close. Jimmy buries his nose in her curls as she says, “Hey, kiddo. How was school?”_

_Jimmy smiles. “I got second in the class spelling bee.”_

_“That’s really good, sweetheart.” Mommy sniffs, and Jimmy looks up. He wipes Mommy’s tears._

_“You need mac and cheese for dinner.” Jimmy decides. “Miss Priscilla says it’s comfort food.”_

_Mommy laughs, like it’s a surprise. She wipes away the rest of her tears herself, then asks, “Who’s Miss Priscilla? She sounds very smart.”_

_“She’s my art teacher.” Jimmy reaches into his pocket and pulls out the reason he came back here in the first place. “We made garden markers.”_

_It’s a painted rock. They all got to go outside to hunt for their own. Jimmy searched by the fence near the baseball square on the big kids’ playground. It’s shaped like a pumpkin so that’s how he painted it. A lot of his classmates drew funny faces on theirs, but Jimmy didn’t want to accidentally mess it up._

_He hands it over. “It looks just like a real pumpkin, baby.”_

_“It’s for if you want to plant a garden sometime.”_

_“But what if we plant pumpkins, and then we accidentally mistake it for one?”_

_“And we put it in a pie!”_

_“And then we break all our teeth!”_

_Jimmy puts his hands over his mouth, giggling. Mommy kisses his forehead, puts the tips of her index finger to his nose and pushes it like a button._

_“What if we set it in the kitchen in the window sill instead,” Mommy suggests. “So, I can see it every day.”_

_Jimmy smiles. “Okay.” He throws his arms around Mommy’s neck and kisses her cheek. “I’m gonna go make us hotdogs and Mac and cheese,” Jimmy says. He kisses her on the cheek. “Love you.”_

_“I love you too,” Mommy says. She sits up as Jimmy slides off the bed. “I’ll be there in a minute. Help you find the perfect spot for our pumpkin. Maybe I’ll make the special cheese.”_

_“Yes!” Jimmy claps his hands as Mommy goes into her bathroom. He turns around to see his brother frowning in the doorway. “We’re gonna have hotdogs and mac and cheese, Rogey,” he tells him excitedly._

_“Whoopty-do,” Rogey says, rolling his eyes._

_Mommy says Rogey is going through puberty and that’s why he’s so touchy. She wants them to get along, so Jimmy doesn’t let it bother him when he’s a little mean sometimes._

_He goes to where Rogey is standing in the doorway and grabs his hand. “Come on,” he tries to pull Rogey toward the kitchen but he’s twelve, where Jimmy is only a third grader, and he doesn’t budge. “Don’t you wanna help? Cooking’s fun!”_

_Rogey yanks his hand away, shoves Jimmy roughly so that he accidentally smacks his shoulder against the wall in the hallway. “Cooking’s for queers.”_

_Jimmy isn’t supposed to like things that make him queer. He doesn’t really know what a queer is, but he knows it’s bad, and sometimes Jimmy does things that Rogey says are bad. Because he likes the neon crayons best and neon blue is his favorite color, and Rogey says that’s queer. He likes playing with his cousin Maddie and her dolls, too, because Jimmy likes to save Barbie from dinosaurs with his Mighty Mouse action figure, and he likes to paint and make pictures on Lite-Brite. Rogey says all of the things Jimmy likes are queer and that’s why he doesn’t want to play with Jimmy anymore._

_But he doesn’t think Rogey knows what a queer is either._

_Because Mommy likes to cook too, so he knows Rogey is just saying it to be mean again. Besides, Jimmy doesn’t care if cooking is queer. It’s his job to take care of everyone now. Rogey makes it hard sometimes because of puberty, but Jimmy still makes his bed for him and helps Mommy wash his clothes. He knows how to make pancakes and French toast on the weekends and to take out the trash Tuesday night. Sometimes he wishes Rogey would help, but he thinks maybe his brother is sad like Mommy. Jimmy is too, and he does his best to make it better._

_Still, as he picks himself up from the floor and Rogey disappears back into his room, he knows that sometimes, no matter how hard he tries, his best isn’t always good enough._

***

Jim doesn’t get home until six-thirty, but Oswald had answered his apology text with ‘(:-P),’ so he supposes Oz must have suspected he’d run late. Especially after finally apprehending Crane the night before. It’s clear Oswald has been home for a while, at any rate, as he has Roger setting the table for dinner when Jim arrives. His brother looks up from placing the silverware to greet Jim with a nod and a smile as he enters the dining room from the foyer.

“Your fiancé is a hell of a cook,” Roger compliments. “If I could afford a place like this, I’d probably just pay someone.”

“Oz didn’t grow up here,” Jim finds himself explaining. “His mother was a cook; she taught him in a tiny apartment downtown. He used to run a kitchen before…” he gestures to the house they’re standing in as if to say, ‘before he came into this.’ He thinks fewer details are probably better in terms of ‘how’ Oz came into it, exactly.

“Wow.” Roger huffs.

Jim frowns. “Wow, what?”

“Nothing, I…” Roger shrugs, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have thought it looking at him, but you guys…have a lot in common, huh?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Oswald answers for Jim, as he emerges from the kitchen to sit what looks like chicken piccata on the table. Jim narrows his eyes. Italian, two nights in a row? Oswald’s tastes tend to lean toward his mother’s recipes, which are largely Hungarian. Italian is Jim’s favorite.

“You’re spoiling me,” Jim comments, meeting Oswald’s eyes.

Oz sniffs. “Nonsense.” He turns to Roger, and says, “Jim and I usually cook together, if we’re both home in the evening.”

“Right,” Roger says, then clears his throat as he takes his seat across from Oz and Jim at the table. “You, uh…you run a nightclub, right?”

“That’s right,” Oswald replies, as he begins to pass the various plates of food around the table. “The Iceberg Lounge, though I’ll be expanding soon.”

“Oz is opening Gotham’s first floating casino,” Jim says proudly.

That’s all the prompting required for Oz to take the reins of the conversation over dinner. Jim watches him, awed, as he takes Roger’s polite, if somewhat stilted, commentary and turns it into long-winded paths of discussion.

By the time there’s a lull, the food is nearly devoured. Jim is ready to call the dinner a success when Roger finally makes his move.

“You guys really do make a nice couple,” he says, then fixes his gaze on Oswald. “I mean, not to be rude, but…when I heard my brother, the Police Captain, was marrying the Penguin, I gotta admit, I was a little worried.”

Jim clenches his jaw. “I hardly think that’s any of your—”

“Now, James,” Oswald says, placing a comforting hand over Jim’s, before he can do something really rude like sock his brother in the mouth. “Your brother has every right to be concerned. Especially if he’s read the Gazette even once in the past five years,” Oswald continues with an unabashed chuckle.

“So, you’re straight now—what changed?” Roger inquires, seemingly genuinely curious, though he avoids meeting Jim’s gaze.

Oz sighs, turning toward Jim and thereby forcing Roger to look in his direction. Jim ignores him, angles his head so that all he sees is Oswald’s blue, sincere gaze. “Jim saved me.”

Jim uncoils slightly, equal parts humbled and embarrassed by Oz’s persistence in this assertion. “You saved yourself.”

Oswald shakes his head. “No.”

He forestalls any of Jim’s further protests by returning his attention to Roger. “I am a changed man because of your brother, believe it or not.”

“I believe you,” Roger says, nodding.

Oswald seems thrown by the declaration, which isn’t surprising really. There’s not one person in this city that thinks Oswald has changed a bit, and in some ways they’re right. Oz isn’t going stop running the night, or his portion of the streets, but his approach is entirely different. Jim sees that, if no one else does. Frankly, that’s probably for the best.

“It doesn’t surprise me,” his brother continues. “Jimmy has a way of bringing out the best in people. He used to be the only person who could make our mother smile after…Well, I’ve always been kind of amazed by him.”

Jim slaps his open palm down against the table, hard enough to rattle the plates and silverware. Roger visibly flinches at his outburst, mouth wisely clicking shut. He feels like he’s about to vibrate off his chair with how forcefully his anger washes over him. Oswald, unphased by just about anything, up to and including being held at gunpoint, simply runs a soothing hand down Jim’s spine.

Suddenly, he feels every dull ache of his exhaustion as he pushes back from the table. Roger is, for the first time since their Dad died, apparently trying to make an effort. Jim doesn’t appreciate his timing or his attempt to play the concerned older brother, but he can at least understand it. He can only imagine what their relationship might look like to an uninformed outsider. And it’s fucking pathetic that his own brother is one of those outsiders, but that’s what he wanted, isn’t it?

He shakes his head; can’t do this right now.

Jim stands from the table, means it when he apologizes to both of them for ruining dinner, claiming exhaustion. Roger looks gutted for reasons Jim can’t begin to understand, but he doesn’t spare his brother more than a glance before pressing a kiss to Oswald’s forehead. “Thank you for cooking. It was really…I’m just…”

“You should get some rest,” Oswald interjects. “I’ll be up soon.”

Jim doesn’t put up a fight or say anything more. Just listlessly makes his way up the stairs and into bed. He’s out before his head hits the pillow.

***

_“Don’t make me take him,” Roger begs their mother. Jimmy isn’t trying to drop eaves, but he can hear them on his way to the bathroom._

_“Roger,” Mom says, “it isn’t going to kill you to take your brother to the park.”_

_“He’s so embarrassing,” Roger complains. “He’s thirteen and he still plays with dolls.”_

_“Your father bought those for him,” she reminds, voice gently chastising. “You know it’s not the same.”_

_“But Alyssa is going to be there,” his brother whines with frustration. “He’s going to do something lame and I’ll be a loser by association.”_

_“Don’t call your brother a loser, Roger,” Mom scolds. “You’ll regret it when you’re older, and he’s all you have to rely on.”_

_In the end, their Mom wins like always and Jimmy finds himself peddling his bike behind Roger down the street to the park outside their old elementary school. He’s familiar with the rules of hanging out with Roger and his friends, and so Jimmy locks up his bike next to his brother’s and makes to run off toward the swings._

_Roger stops him by grabbing his arm. “Don’t talk to anyone,” he says. “We’ll be over playing baseball.”_

_“I know,” Jimmy says, because he does know. “I’m not a baby, Roge, jeesh.”_

_“Whatever,” Roger says with a put-upon sigh. “Just don’t…do anything stupid.”_

_Jimmy shrugs, face heating. He doesn’t understand why Roger has to be such a jerk. He watches as his brother runs off toward the baseball diamond. Jimmy trudges off toward the swings, but it doesn’t hold the same appeal as it did on the way over._

_Instead, he wanders over to the open field where the merry-go-round used to be. There’re never many people at this park, but it’s rare that Jimmy finds it completely devoid of other kids his age. He finds a stick under the see-saw and uses it to draw pictures in the pebbles for a while._

_He grows bored eventually, and looks toward the baseball diamond, trying to gauge whether or not Roger and his friends are wrapping things up, when he notices the flowers. They’re orange and red, with pretty blooms that look like bells, opening into curving petals. Roger’s friends are packing up their bags, so Jimmy tries to be quick._

_He sprints over to where they’re growing up the large oak tree near the side entrance to the park. They don’t have stems, so he isn’t sure how they’ll do in a vase. He’s about to pull on the vine, when a hand closes around his wrist and yanks him back._

_“Don’t touch those, idiot.” Roger pants, like he just finished running a race. Jimmy looks up to see his frantic green eyes, and notices all of his friends are closing in on them at a more sedate pace._

_Jimmy pulls his arm away, rubbing at his shoulder where Roger tugged too hard. “I just wanted to grab a couple for Mom.”_

_Roger rolls his eyes. “You’re such a suck-up. Cut it out already. Mom doesn’t need anymore of your stinky flowers.”_

_Jim grits his teeth as Bradley and Jacob walk up to flank Roger’s sides. Bradley reaches forward and ruffles Jimmy’s hair. “Kid runs pretty fast, Roge, could’a been our short stop.”_

_“Jimmy doesn’t play baseball,” Roger lies. Jimmy plays pitcher for him when there’s no one else around and Roger wants to practice his swing. They watch the games together when Mom works late. “He’d rather pick flowers.”_

_Jacob wrinkles his nose. “Well, don’t pick those ones. They’re poisonous.”_

_Jimmy’s eyes widen, his cheeks warming. “Oh,” he says, glancing up at Roger from under his bangs. “Thanks.”_

_Roger rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Your stupid flowers would have given Mom a rash. Like she doesn’t already have enough to deal with, with you always following her around.”_

_Bradley and Jacob snigger, and Jim feels his face heat further._

_“Uh-oh!”_

_“Momma’s boy?”_

_“Basically.” Roger snorts._

_Jimmy grits his teeth, but he’s so angry and he can’t hold his tongue. “At least I try to help. All you ever do is hide in your bedroom and jack off!”_

_There’s a high-pitched giggle then, and Roger, Jacob and Bradley all turn around as one toward the source. Jimmy can see Alyssa standing there, in the space between his brother and Jacob, and his stomach sinks._

_“Bye guys,” Alyssa says, still laughing. “We’ll see you at school.”_

_When she and her friend are a safe distance away, Roger rounds on him, furious. “You did that on purpose!” He accuses._

_“I didn’t see her, I swear!” Jimmy denies, shaking his head as Jacob and Bradley exchange wary glances._

_“We gotta go,” Jacob says, pulling Bradley along by the elbow._

_Roger glares at Jimmy murderously as his friends retreat. “I knew this would happen. All because you just have to be a kiss-ass.”_

_“I’m sorry, Roger.” Jimmy reaches out to him, not really meaning to, not really sure what he intends to do. Roger shoves him, kicks gravel at him when he lands on the ground._

_Jimmy cries out, not because he wants to but because he landed on his arm funny, and it hurts. Really bad. He chokes on a sob, tears springing to his eyes as he clutches his arm._

_“Stop being a baby!” Roger demands, and Jimmy can’t see his face, but he sounds so angry and that’s not…he didn’t mean to embarrass Roger in front of his friends. Jimmy cries all the harder as he realizes that he really is a loser, and Roger is right to hate him._

_“Jimmy?” There’s a hand on his arm, gentle as it turns him over onto his back. “Oh, shit!”_

_Jimmy grits his teeth as he looks up into Roger’s panicked face. He means to ask what’s wrong with his arm, because he’s afraid to look at it himself. Instead, he blurts, “I’m sorry!”_

_“Christ, Mom’s gonna kill me,” Roger says, as he takes off his sweater and ties the sleeves together. He carefully sits Jimmy up, puts the tied ends around his neck and helps him gingerly rest his arm in the makeshift sling._

_He dusts off Jimmy’s clothes, and crouches under his good arm, hauling them both up to their feet. They tread carefully to where the bikes are locked up, and Roger sighs as he rests Jimmy against the rack._

_“We’ll have to leave ‘em here,” Roger decides._

_“I’m sorry,” Jimmy cries, miserable. His arm doesn’t hurt so bad now, but he can’t stop crying. His lungs ache with the strain of breathing around his sobs._

_He looks up to see a few tears slip down Roger’s face before his brother angrily wipes them away, which is bad because Roger never cries, so Jimmy apologizes for that too. He doesn’t mean to cause trouble._

_“Stop!” Roger finally yells. “Stop saying you’re sorry!” He bends over, rips a handful of the park’s decorative tulips from their pots and shoves them into Jimmy’s chest. “Here. You can give these to Mom when we get home. Just…take it easy. Alright?”_

_“That’s st-stealing.”_

_“From who?” Roger insists. “They’re just gonna die out here anyway.”_

_Jimmy sniffs, clutching the tulips. “O—okay.”_

_Roger hefts up their bags and they make their way back to the house. Every step jostles his arm painfully and Jimmy keeps crying, but Roger doesn’t complain. Instead, he paces his steps to Jimmy’s, doesn’t call him a fag when he leans against Roger as they walk._

***

“Change your mind about the bachelor party?” Harvey asks, taking the stool next to Jim at the bar.

“Nope,” Jim easily replies. He’s got about as much interest in a night on the town as he does going home to reminisce with Roger.

“So…” Harvey purses his lips, then says, “Your brother…”

Jim groans. “Please no.”

Harvey knocks on the counter, nods up at Hank behind the bar. “Gonna need two doubles over here.”

“Gonna need more than that,” Jim wryly remarks.

“Come on, what’s the deal with you two?” Harvey asks bluntly. “He seems alright, and you seem…not so much lately.”

“I’m fine—” Jim frowns at Harvey’s blank stare, then sighs. “It’s complicated.”

“What’d he do?”

“What didn’t he do?” Jim returns, taking a sip of his drink after Hank slides them down the bar. “I walked on eggshells around him as a kid, until he told me to fuck off as an adult. And now he shows up on my doorstep, and all he can talk about is the past, like it was the time of our lives.”

Harvey regards him, eyes unreadable before he asks, “You want to take him on a ride along?”

Jim chokes on his drink, scotch burning his nose as he pictures rolling Roger around Crime Alley or down to the Narrows. He claps a hand on Harvey’s shoulder as he wipes his mouth.

“I’d rather just ask him what the hell he wants,” Jim says tiredly. “Except apparently, all he wanted was to make sure I hadn’t gotten myself into trouble with Gotham’s former mayor.”

Harvey chortles. “What, like blackmail or something?”

“Something like that,” Jim says, rubbing his forehead. “What the Hell was he going to do about it if I had?” He leans in and lowers his voice as he adds, “Roger has no idea what Oswald is capable of; he wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Speaking of the ole ball and chain, what does he make of all this?”

Jim huffs. “He said it’s up to me, but he’d gladly have him tossed off the pier if I asked him to—at least, it was implied.”

Harvey sniggers. “Christ.”

“Yeah.” Jim taps the bar, signals for another round. “Life’s weird.”

“So, how long has it been?” Harvey catches their drinks when Hank slides them over.

“Twelve years,” Jim answers with a shrug, “give or take.”

“Jesus.” Harvey snorts. “I thought my family was dysfunctional.”

“Least you have one.”

Harvey hums, tips his head to acknowledge Jim’s point. “Was it a girl?”

“No, it’s…” He shakes his head, then sighs. Jim tosses back the rest of his drink, then says. “We just weren’t ever the same after Dad died.”

Jim remembers they would go through periods of mild civility, where it almost seemed as if they were on their way back to how Jim remembered before the accident. Roger would warm up to him, take him into the yard and toss the ball back and forth, trade baseball cards or race him home on their bikes—it almost seemed normal.

Then, Jim would do something to set him off—to this day, he doesn’t know the reasons for half of Roger’s outbursts—and they’d be back to square one. It got better as they got older.

If ignoring one another counts as better. Roger went off to college and a few years after that, Jim went off to the Marines. They saw each other at holidays when Mom was still alive, but there was always that tension. They never talked about the low points of their past, save for once. Right after Mom died.

Incidentally, they hadn’t spoken since.

Harvey puts a heavy hand against the back of Jim’s neck, squeezing. “Only three things are certain in life, Jimbo,” he says.

Jim squints. “Pretty sure that’s not—”

“Death, taxes,” Harvey interjects, taking drink, “and assholes.”

Jim chuckles, his agreeable nod perhaps a bit too pronounced. “How many of these have I had?”

“Too may to drive,” Harvey asserts, watching as Jim pulls out his phone. “Gonna call Romeo for a ride?”

“As a matter of fact—” Jim begins to answer, but Oswald picks up and he says, “Hey, sweetheart.”

“You’re with Harvey, aren’t you?” Oswald asks shrewdly, his voice slightly raised against music and chatter from the club which blares in the background.

Harvey leans in, having heard his name. “Hiya, Ozzy!”

“Don’t ever call me that again,” Oz deadpans.

Jim looks at Harvey smugly. “Only I get to use nicknames, Harv.”

“I’ll call you a car, darling,” Oswald says sweetly. “Tell Bullock he can walk.”

“C’mon, Oz,” Jim cajoles, appealing to that compassion he knows lurks in the shadows. “He’s been helping me with stuff.”

“I take it you aren’t referring solely to wedding affairs.” Jim’s silence is answer enough, and Oswald huffs, clicking his tongue. “Fine,” he concedes reluctantly, before adding, “But if he vomits in my car again, I will. Cut. Him.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Harvey defends. “’sides, that was Jim.”

Jim coughs over Harvey’s claims, shoves him away from the receiver.

“Jim?” Oswald asks, clearly annoyed.

“Sorry, honey. Got a little something in my throat,” Jim lies as he tosses down a few bills onto the bar and he and Harvey make their way out onto the sidewalk. The lounge isn’t that long of a drive, and it won’t take long for their care to arrive. He drifts a few feet away, claiming a bit of privacy. “I’m sorry about…yesterday.”

He hears some shuffling on Oswald’s end, and then the background noise is suddenly muted. “I told you—I will do whatever you need me to do, and I won’t ask questions. But you do know you can tell me if you want to? I promise not to do anything rash.”

“Hey, it’s not like that,” Jim says. “I know you wouldn’t do that, okay?” Oswald is silent. “Oz?”

“Yes, well…”

“No, c’mon. I trust you.” Jim looks over his shoulder, Harvey nods at him as he lights up a cigarette. “I…it’s hard to talk about.”

“But not to Harvey?” Oswald points out, not unfairly and not with any kind of irritation. It’s more like he’s just observing the truth, which almost makes it worse.

“Harvey doesn’t know, he just assumes the worst and feeds me whiskey,” Jim admits with a chuckle.

“Jim,” Oswald says, clearly disbelieving, “I don’t begrudge you—”

“It hurts,” Jim confesses, throat constricting all of a sudden.

“Jim—”

“I gave up on him, Oz,” Jim admits, clutching his phone like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the ground. “My own brother.”

A limousine pulls up, one that Jim knows is used to escort high profile guests between the Iceberg Lounge and Gotham’s downtown hotels. Oswald says, “Come here, Jim.”

“What…”

Jim furrows his brow as he approaches the driver, holding open the door as Harvey climbs into the car. He peeks around his partner and sees Oswald seated at the far side, facing the back window, looking every inch as regal as a member of the royal family. Oz snaps his phone shut when they lock eyes, smiling impishly.

“Hello, Jim.”

Jim ducks into the limo and doesn’t hesitate to sidle up to Oz’s side and kiss the smug right off his lips.

Harvey groans. “I changed my mind, lemme out!”

Too late, Harvey’s protests go unheeded by the driver who shuts the door right in his face. The locks pop down automatically, and Harvey falls back against the opposite seat, laying his head back against the rest, an arm tossed over his eyes dramatically.

“Damn it.”

Jim chuckles as he withdraws from the kiss, pleased to note he’s managed to knock Oswald’s tie askew, his perfectly styled hair ruffled just a bit. He considers it a job well done— _that’ll teach him_ —and slouches against his dazed fiancé, humming his pleasure when Oz lifts his arm and pulls him closer. He means to tease Harvey, but Oz rests his chin against Jim’s head, and his eyes slip closed of their own volition.    

***

_“Hey, little bro,” Roger greets, surprising Jim with an embrace. He seems a little edgy, but things are always a bit awkward between them. “Been a while.”_

_Jim finds himself returning his brother’s winning smile despite how thrown he is by it. “Yeah. Too long.”_

_“Hungry?” Roger gestures to the booth Jim had been holding for their reunion. He’d gotten the call from Roger a few days ago, saying he’d like to see him before he shipped out. Jim, always hoping for some common ground between them, readily agreed._

_“Always,” Jim replies, as they slide into their seats. “Military fare ain’t very fair.”_

_Roger chuckles. “Bet you’re glad to be out of basic. They shipping you out soon?”_

_“Next week,” Jim confirms._

_“You need me to take care of anything while you’re gone,” his brother offers. It’s unexpected, which is why Jim’s already made arrangements._

_“Thanks for the offer,” Jim replies earnestly, “but I’m alright. Got most of my stuff in storage and Uncle Frank’s letting me use his townhouse until I deploy.”_

_Roger’s smile is somewhat subdued as he says, “That’s good. You always got everything sorted.”_

_Jim shrugs. He lets Roger tell him what he’s been up to at school, only a couple semesters from graduating with his Bachelor’s in Business Administration._

_“I’m going to open my own business,” Roger says. “Life insurance is where it’s at right now.”_

_Jim nods encouragingly, though he thinks his older brother’s future sounds boring as hell. “I’m sure you’ll do great. You were always really good at those fundraisers back in the day.”_

_Roger chuckles. “We’ll see, I guess. Just gotta get the money together for my certifications and I’ll be all set.”_

_Jim nods, then furrows his brow. “I thought you got those already?”_

_Roger’s expression pinches for a second before he shrugs. “That was for the Adjuster certification. This one’s for the Life and Disability Analyst cert.”_

_That doesn’t sound right. Jim’s pretty sure he’s read that title before when Roger wrote him in boot camp asking to borrow the money for four different certs, three months ago. They didn’t always talk, but Mom wasn’t around anymore, and so Jim had sent what he could to help out. It had been a little over two-thousand dollars._

_Jim pulls out his wallet, opens it up and finds the letter. Roger regards him with wide, surprised eyes. Maybe it’s weird to have kept it, but Jim doesn’t even have a picture of Roger and he didn’t get any other letters while he was in training. It had given Jim hope that his family wasn’t completely unsalvageable._

_Now, Jim unfolds the letter and reads through it before holding it out to Roger. “See? It’s right here. Two grand didn’t cover it?”_

_Roger licks his lips, voice low as he replies, “Not entirely.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“What is this?” Roger huffs a nervous laugh. “You some kind of detective? I mean it wasn’t enough.”_

_“It was more than enough,” Jim states plainly. “I made sure. I wanted you to have extra so you could—”_

_“I had to pay a guy, okay?” Roger interrupts, his voice a harsh whisper as he leans across the table. “I got a little…fucked up on some shit.”_

_Jim feels his heart sink. “What kind of shit?”_

_Roger rolls his eyes, shrugs noncommittally, “A little blow.”_

_He feels his jaw tighten. “You spent your cert money—the money I gave you—on drugs? Are you serious?”_

_“Fuck off, Jimmy,” Roger sneers. “He was gonna bust my kneecaps if I didn’t pay him. How the hell do you think I afforded college? Mom sure as hell didn’t have the money for it.”_

_Jim ignores the pop-shot at their deceased mother and leans across the table now, voice low as he demands, “You’ve been selling coke?”_

_“I had a front,” Roger explains, “I had to pay it back within a certain period of time.”_

_“But you still don’t have the certs,” Jim deduces. “How much of it did you snort?”_

_Roger bangs his open palm against the table. In his peripheral, Jim sees their waitress make a swift turn on her heel to head back to the kitchen. “The fuck do you care, Jimmy? Mom’s dead, you can stop playing house now.”_

_“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jim asks, incensed._

_“It’s means you’re a fucking nag,” his brother replies, voice raising. “Stop trying to control everyone’s fucking life.”_

_“You know what, Roger?” Jim slides out of the booth, wads up his brother’s letter and throws in his face. “Fuck you!”_

_He marches out of the restaurant and onto the street outside, making a beeline for the bus stop. He’s pulled up short when Roger catches his shoulder and spins him around._

_“You think you’re so much better than me, you always have,” Roger accuses. “Mom sure bought into your bull shit golden-boy act, always kissing her ass and making me look a piece of shit. You’re all she fucking asked for before she died!”_

_“It’s not my fault you were too busy being a selfish prick to raise a finger,” Jim shouts back. “I did everything I could to help you! I tried to take care of us, so she wouldn’t have to do it alone!”_

_“Yeah, well I never asked you to!”_

_“You never said I shouldn’t!”_

_“Maybe I thought you owed me.” Roger growls, nostrils flaring as he takes a step closer so that they’re almost nose to nose. He looks into Jim’s eyes, gaze hard as he says, “Maybe I wished it had been you.”_

_Jim sucks in a breath, blood churning in his ears. Roger takes a step back, his own face stricken as if he can’t believe he’s finally said what Jim’s always suspected was true. He nods as he pulls out his wallet. He’s got seven-hundred he’d been planning to put down on a used car._

_He crosses the distance between them, grabs Roger’s slack hand and shoves five, one-hundred-dollar bills into his palm, closing his fingers over it._

_“This is what you came here for, right?” Jim asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. Roger calls his name after a moment, but Jim ignores him as he climbs onto the bus just in time for the driver to close the doors._

_He doesn’t look back._

***

Jim awakens late the following morning, blessedly on-call only for the next couple days. Things have settled down a little after finding Crane and ending his production, putting a stop to the mayhem his toxins were breeding. He’s hopeful, at any rate, that he may actually get a day off for a change. Which is good, because he’s supposed to be picking up the marriage license from the County Clerk this afternoon.

He rolls over, confused when he doesn’t immediately encounter Oswald’s sleeping form. Not quite willing to open his eyes yet, Jim feels around blindly, grunting when it becomes evident that Oz is indeed out of reach. He cracks open an eye and huffs.

There’s a note, scrawled over the front sheet of a bright yellow legal pad, where his fiancé should be. It’s a poor substitute. Jim rubs his eyes with one hand, jaw cracking on a yawn as he pushes himself up with the other. He snatches up the pad, and Jim chuckles at Oswald’s Victorian flare.

_‘Dearest Jim,_

_We’re selecting materials for the interior of the yacht this morning. Don’t feel bad if you forgot. I’ll meet you downtown at 2:30._

_Love,_

_O._

_PS—Your brother informs me that he will be leaving tomorrow. Perhaps now would be a good time say whatever it is you need to say.’_

Jim draws his knees up, so he can prop his elbows onto them, and sighs. Oswald is right—it’s now or never and the sad truth is, there isn’t any length of time that will prepare Jim to deal with his baggage. All he knows, is that he’s never going to make peace with it if he lets Roger leave without trying to talk about it. Maybe he could have been content to let sleeping bears lie if Roger hadn’t shown up, but now that he’s here…

Jim can’t ignore it. Can’t shove it back into its box.

Resolved, Jim washes up and throws on his most comfortable pair of jeans and a long-sleeved henley. He finds Roger in the guest room, packing up his suitcase. Jim clears his throat and taps on the door to get his attention. His brother blinks, as if Jim might be a mirage. He supposes that’s fair, given the zeal with which Jim has avoided him so far.

“Hey,” Jim says, gesturing at the suitcase. “Oz says you’re plannin’ on leaving tomorrow?”

Roger comes out from around the other side of the bed, to sit on its opposite edge facing Jim. “Yeah.”

Suddenly, Jim thinks he can probably go another twelve years without having to open up this can of worms. It’s unsettling, having the tables turned like this—being the one unwilling to put forth the effort. Why is it so hard to beat back his own reluctance? Is it pride, or self-preservation? Is he just being petty?

Jim licks his lips. “Okay.”

He turns to leave the room, but Roger says, “What the hell?”

Jim rounds on him. “Look, whatever it is you have to say—whatever is you _want_ —I don’t want to hear it.”

“Wow.” Roger huffs, hanging his head. “I’ve been a pretty shitty brother, haven’t I?”

That brings Jim up short. He isn’t sure how to respond to that, torn between two completely different impulses. There’s a side of him that realizes they were just two kids trying to wrap themselves around the void their father left behind. While the other insists that Roger is an irredeemable piece of shit despite the little evidence there is to the contrary.

“I shoulda taken care of you,” Roger says when Jim fails to confirm or deny. “I should have helped you take care of Mom.”

Jim can’t speak; Is wondering if this is some weird whiskey-fueled nightmare.

Roger taps his fingers nervously against the edge of the mattress. He pushes to his feet, gestures to the room around them. “You got a real nice thing here, Jimmy. When I heard you were getting married, I thought, ‘that’s one lucky girl.’” He huffs a laugh. “Or guy, as it turns out. Then I got to reading and I thought maybe you were in trouble. You would never get tangled up with the mafia, and so I grabbed my shit and tore across the country.

“I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. Of course, you’re okay—the guy’s got demons, but who doesn’t? He looks at you like you hung the fuckin’ moon. Hell, maybe you did.” Roger shrugs, meets Jim’s eyes. “Anyway, you don’t need me here. Lord knows you’ve never needed me.. But for what it’s worth…I’m real proud of you.”

Roger drops his gaze to the floor, turns back to continue packing his things and Jim feels wrung out. Mom wouldn’t have wanted them to fight, and maybe…he gets it now.

“I always needed you,” he confesses, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry if I—”

“No.” Roger strides across the room, quicker than Jim can process in his current stupor, and grips his shoulders. “I’m sorry. If we’re fucked up, it’s my fault. You were such a sweet kid. You made sure we had clean clothes to wear when Mom was too depressed to do anything. You used to iron my work uniforms, you learned to cook for us and you—you were just a little thing.

“And I never said thank you—not for any of it.” Tears spill forth from Roger’s anguished green eyes, trailing down his cheeks. “So, don’t you fucking apologize to me.”

Roger releases him to wipe his face, and Jim swipes at his own misty eyes. He tries to joke, to alleviate some of the tension, but it comes out sounding accusatory instead, “Not gonna tell me that marrying another man is queer?”

Roger looks at him like Jim’s just stabbed him in the gut. He opens his mouth to take it back, except Roger throws his arms around Jim and hugs him for the first time in over a decade. Longer still, since he’s done it sincerely. Jim’s forgotten how small it makes him feel to be wrapped up in Roger’s gargantuan embrace. Jim never did catch up to him when he finally reached his growth spurt.

“I don’t remember everything I said,” Roger admits. “But I made you hide it, didn’t I? I threw your Lite Brite in the street, hid your action figures from you, and I—I called you a faggot in front of all of our friends and I didn’t care if it was true. I was just so fucking jealous of you.”

Jim can barely speak for how hard he’s shaking against his brother, hands wound tightly in the back of his shirt as he hides his own face in Roger’s shoulder. “What…”

“Dad was gone,” Roger explains, voice choked as he squeezes Jim all the tighter, like he’s afraid he’ll evaporate at the mere mention of the thing that drove them apart. “Like he was ever home anyway, but you always knew how to make Mom feel better, and I never could. I was a dumb, jealous kid, and I treated you like crap because I knew you were better.”

Roger pulls away, just far enough that he can meet Jim’s gaze. He lifts a hand to Jim’s face, and just looks at him for a moment, but it’s the exact same way their mother used to and Jim marvels to see it there, in eyes that are so familiar, but so changed.

“I’m glad it wasn’t you, Jimmy,” Roger says. “We’d have been lost without you.” His brother hugs him again, like he can’t help it. “Thank you for taking care of me—for taking care of both of us.”

Jim can feel the moment forgiveness settles inside him, and sobs with the unexpected relief that it brings. It breaks something anew. Something that healed itself wrong a long time ago, something he accepted as twisted and incurable that he’s tried painting over only to have it peel up repeatedly over time.

Roger doesn’t say anything for a while, just hugs Jim close until they’ve both pulled themselves back together. When they finally let go, they share an awkward laugh before Roger pulls out his wallet. He retrieves a small picture and hands it over.

It’s a school picture of a little girl, with bright red hair like Roger’s and big blue eyes like Jim’s. There’s a band of tiny freckles dotting her cheeks and nose. Her wide, mischievous grin reminds Jim of daisies. She can’t be more than ten.

“I’ve been dying to tell you. This is your niece,” his brother says, “Barbara Madison Gordon.”

 

 

 

  1. An Open House, is the answer to Ed’s riddle.



 

**Author's Note:**

> A quick note about Roger. 
> 
> What I hope was made evident throughout is that Roger isn't a villain; just a really fucked up kid who doesn't know how to process his situation. The coping mechanisms adopted by both Jim and Roger following their father's death are both unhealthy forms of grieving. Nowadays, lost of children who lose their parents are immediately provided some for of grief counseling, but this is only a widespread practice recently and I doubt Jim's mother would have been given the resources or pointed in that direction at that point in time. If you'd like to discuss Roger at all, or any of the other stuff in this entry, I'd love to hear from you in the comments! Character analysis is one of my fave things to do, as most of you well know! <3


End file.
